


Scars

by Madilayn



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/M, Introspection, POV First Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4247514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madilayn/pseuds/Madilayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Penelope is fascinated by Gordon's scars, and Gordon is determined to heal Penelope's</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Penelope

Little things seem so different when a big step has been taken. The whole way one looks at a person changes when physical attraction and love start to enter into the equation. Little things about them, barely registered once, suddenly assume great interest and importance. 

For me, it was Gordon’s scars. It wasn’t like they appeared suddenly; it was just that, like all of the four oldest Tracy brothers, he had scars picked up in the dangerous work they all did. I just never took notice of them. 

Until now. When everything changed. When we took that next step in our relationship; when we moved from kisses and caresses to that stage where physical intimacy was imperative. When we made the decision that for neither of us was this a crush any longer. Love had blossomed, and our bodies as well as our hearts and souls ached for each other.

Which is why I am now sitting here in my – our – bed watching him as he sleeps. It’s a good thing the bed is so large, because Gordon is a sprawler. He’s laying on his stomach legs akimbo, arms reaching up to cradle the pillow that his head is resting on. The last twelve hours has given me a whole new appreciation of the body that lies next to me. 

The reality of this body shows the deception that Gordon shows day to day. You only ever see what Gordon wants you to see; unless he’s allowed you inside that mask and you are permitted to see the true Gordon Tracy. 

How could I not have fallen in love with him when I saw him truly? Looked beyond the jokes, the bragging, and the seemingly gawky boy to see the man. To see the strength in him, not only physically but mentally. Oh he was skilled at deception. Skilled enough to even fool Parker and me. But I caught glimpses, allowed myself to be intrigued, and pulled in. 

Now I mentally kick myself when I think of how I let myself forget what he had been through, what he had done before International Rescue. How he had gloated when I finally confessed it to him and that was when I saw that the mask Gordon Tracy wore wasn’t so much a mask as a glimpse. He only allowed those outside his trusted family to see that sliver of himself.

At first, I wondered if it was because he was in the shadow of Scott and Virgil, two older brothers who physically dominated him, and mentally seemed much stronger. Now I know the difference. He lets himself be that younger, careless Gordon around them because he can. Because they know him so well, know what he is capable of, and they cherish that he is still with them and know that he will do what he needs. In some ways, I think that they envy him that he can totally turn off his professional side and become a child when he has the chance.

I envy him this ability as well, and I hope that he will teach me.

I reach out and gently touch his back which is a mess of scars. Old ones, white and coarse, dominate. They show marks where shrapnel from an exploding hoverjet tried to take his life. Old ones that show the marks of the surgery that repaired a shattered spine. 

His body bears other scars as well; boyhood accidents and newer ones, some of which show how close saving a life came to ending his. 

I knew what the Tracy’s did was dangerous, had registered injuries and scars before, but it never hit home like it did when I had the chance to see them close up. To run my fingers along those ridges, press my lips to them in gratitude that they didn’t take the life of the man I loved from me.

Gordon’s scars tell me how determined he is. That he will do anything he needs to in order to win, to overcome difficulties. His gold medal should have told me that originally, and at some level I think it did. 

With him lying like this, I can’t see his chest and the front of his torso. More hard, strong muscles, with another set of scars there. These ones I know are more recent. I discovered that two of them were obtained in keeping me safe. He’d never let on. Never let me see that he was injured. 

It was then I started to see him truly for the first time. The determination, the strength he had. It was only later I realised the pose he had kept up throughout the whole time we were trapped in that temple. How he had used that façade to keep pushing me on, letting my anger and frustration at his attitude keep me going. 

Would he have kissed me? I can certainly think of worse ways of dying than locked in the embrace of Gordon Tracy. In fact, I can say now with certainty that if my last breaths were taken whilst kissing him, then I would die a happy woman. 

That huge scar on his back. The one that goes parallel to his spine… how that must have hurt when he was recovering. And yet, how much gratitude it holds, for it’s that scar that repaired his spine. It’s that scar that let Gordon continue to be Gordon. I love it and hate it for all those reasons. 

I bend forward and press my lips to it, and it’s smooth against them in some places, rough in others where the scar and skin has puckered. Suddenly, I feel a need to feel his skin against mine, and I straddle him and lay long his back, resting my head on his broad shoulders. I can feel every scar on his back on my body, and it’s arousing to me, just as every touch of his is. 

I kiss the back of his neck. “I love you.”


	2. Gordon

Little things seem so different when a big step has been taken. The whole way one looks at a person changes when physical attraction and love start to enter into the equation. Little things about them, barely registered once, suddenly assume great interest and importance. 

For me, it was Gordon’s scars. It wasn’t like they appeared suddenly; it was just that, like all of the four oldest Tracy brothers, he had scars picked up in the dangerous work they all did. I just never took notice of them. 

Until now. When everything changed. When we took that next step in our relationship; when we moved from kisses and caresses to that stage where physical intimacy was imperative. When we made the decision that for neither of us was this a crush any longer. Love had blossomed, and our bodies as well as our hearts and souls ached for each other.

Which is why I am now sitting here in my – our – bed watching him as he sleeps. It’s a good thing the bed is so large, because Gordon is a sprawler. He’s laying on his stomach legs akimbo, arms reaching up to cradle the pillow that his head is resting on. The last twelve hours has given me a whole new appreciation of the body that lies next to me. 

The reality of this body shows the deception that Gordon shows day to day. You only ever see what Gordon wants you to see; unless he’s allowed you inside that mask and you are permitted to see the true Gordon Tracy. 

How could I not have fallen in love with him when I saw him truly? Looked beyond the jokes, the bragging, and the seemingly gawky boy to see the man. To see the strength in him, not only physically but mentally. Oh he was skilled at deception. Skilled enough to even fool Parker and me. But I caught glimpses, allowed myself to be intrigued, and pulled in. 

Now I mentally kick myself when I think of how I let myself forget what he had been through, what he had done before International Rescue. How he had gloated when I finally confessed it to him and that was when I saw that the mask Gordon Tracy wore wasn’t so much a mask as a glimpse. He only allowed those outside his trusted family to see that sliver of himself.

At first, I wondered if it was because he was in the shadow of Scott and Virgil, two older brothers who physically dominated him, and mentally seemed much stronger. Now I know the difference. He lets himself be that younger, careless Gordon around them because he can. Because they know him so well, know what he is capable of, and they cherish that he is still with them and know that he will do what he needs. In some ways, I think that they envy him that he can totally turn off his professional side and become a child when he has the chance.

I envy him this ability as well, and I hope that he will teach me.

I reach out and gently touch his back which is a mess of scars. Old ones, white and coarse, dominate. They show marks where shrapnel from an exploding hoverjet tried to take his life. Old ones that show the marks of the surgery that repaired a shattered spine. 

His body bears other scars as well; boyhood accidents and newer ones, some of which show how close saving a life came to ending his. 

I knew what the Tracy’s did was dangerous, had registered injuries and scars before, but it never hit home like it did when I had the chance to see them close up. To run my fingers along those ridges, press my lips to them in gratitude that they didn’t take the life of the man I loved from me.

Gordon’s scars tell me how determined he is. That he will do anything he needs to in order to win, to overcome difficulties. His gold medal should have told me that originally, and at some level I think it did. 

With him lying like this, I can’t see his chest and the front of his torso. More hard, strong muscles, with another set of scars there. These ones I know are more recent. I discovered that two of them were obtained in keeping me safe. He’d never let on. Never let me see that he was injured. 

It was then I started to see him truly for the first time. The determination, the strength he had. It was only later I realised the pose he had kept up throughout the whole time we were trapped in that temple. How he had used that façade to keep pushing me on, letting my anger and frustration at his attitude keep me going. 

Would he have kissed me? I can certainly think of worse ways of dying than locked in the embrace of Gordon Tracy. In fact, I can say now with certainty that if my last breaths were taken whilst kissing him, then I would die a happy woman. 

That huge scar on his back. The one that goes parallel to his spine… how that must have hurt when he was recovering. And yet, how much gratitude it holds, for it’s that scar that repaired his spine. It’s that scar that let Gordon continue to be Gordon. I love it and hate it for all those reasons. 

I bend forward and press my lips to it, and it’s smooth against them in some places, rough in others where the scar and skin has puckered. Suddenly, I feel a need to feel his skin against mine, and I straddle him and lay long his back, resting my head on his broad shoulders. I can feel every scar on his back on my body, and it’s arousing to me, just as every touch of his is. 

I kiss the back of his neck. “I love you.”  
________________________________________  
   
I once thought that if I could win that gold medal, my life goal would be complete. Then, it was if I would walk again. If I could swim. Run. Could be a complete part of International Rescue. 

But it wasn’t quite enough. There was still this emptiness inside of me that nothing seemed to fill, and I had no idea what it meant. 

I mean, I had everything a man my age could want. Money, a career I loved, a family who loved and supported me, and if I was in the mood and went looking, all the sex I could want. 

The answer came slowly, I will admit. But then, I hadn’t even been aware I’d been asking the question. 

What was it about her that made me regress in mentality to the age of my younger brother? One look from those cool blue eyes and I could barely get a sentence out right. My attempts at flirting or joking made me cringe. 

A crush. A simple crush. That’s what I thought. Like five other Tracy men. Dad hid his best, but if you knew him well, you could see in the softness that came to his eyes when he looked or spoke to her. 

Scott flirts – as Scott does. He can’t help it, but while you could see he was fond of her, he didn’t love her. It was just Scott’s way. Of course, I also knew that, being Scott, if she offered, he wouldn’t turn down a chance to sleep with her. 

Well, none of us would. Who wouldn’t? Except, she kept herself aloof, flirting almost as outrageously as Scott, but still firmly putting us all in the “friendzone”.

I don’t know when I moved from crush to love. I don’t even know when I started to chat to her, outside requests for assistance. Or when it became “normal” for my brothers to ask me to contact her instead of doing it directly themselves.

I do know that my older brothers found it endlessly amusing to watch. Well, after the first time they each encountered “Gordon the tongue tied with a female”. It just didn’t happen. They had all been there and seen me pull anybody I fancy. John still hasn’t forgiven me for pulling that hot cheerleader he’d been working on for a couple of hours. He couldn’t tell she was bored stiff by his talking. The woman wanted to fuck, not talk. John and Virgil – always wanting to “make a connection”.

So why her? She was way out of my league, even just for casual sex. Not to mention the roadblock named Parker that you had to get past. 

When the hell did I become a “problem” to Parker? When the hell did anybody else in the family become preferable to me when help was needed? And he can snark like nobody else – even Virgil looks amateur compared to when Parker lets loose.

More to the point though – when did she fall for me? What deity blessed me that Penelope Creighton-Ward would fall in love with me? 

Was it during our adventure? Where I acted at least six years younger than I am? Where I’d decided that to die with her was all I wanted. Where I decided that I’d show rather than tell, and moved to kiss her – only to be interrupted by the most ill-timed rescue I’ve ever been involved with. 

Was it after that, when I was still behaving like Alan? Or was it when she took my hand and leaned against my side and whispered “you never can tell until you try.” 

Talking, hand-holding, kissing, arguing, and laughing to this. This decision that will affect the rest of our lives. 

We’ve been in bed since about 20 minutes after Virgil left me behind here. With a note and a box of condoms, delivered by the oh-so-disapproving Parker. I read it, blushed, Penelope read it, murmured “how thoughtful” and yanked me down into the fiercest kiss I’d ever had from her. That kiss causing my usual reaction to her, and having me wishing that my uniform wasn’t quite so fitted. Completely suitable for underwater rescues, rather less so for encounters with beautiful women who made it even harder by kissing me. 

And then all of a sudden it all clicked and I became me again. Not awkward Alan-Gordon, or even sex-fiend Scott-Gordon, but me. Gordon. The Gordon who was the sum of the facades I show to the world. The Gordon that only my family knows. 

We did talk before we tumbled into bed – well during really. I was determined she wasn’t going to regret anything, and that she knew how serious I was about it all. 

I am serious. When I think of her, that empty feeling vanishes, and she’s there smiling at me. She makes me feel like I can do anything and that she is the pinnacle of all my hopes and dreams.

Because she is.

We made love, and I now understand why Dad couldn’t put anybody in Mom’s place, not if what they had was anything like this. I also now understand why they call it making love. 

I’m somewhat embarrassed – I’ve never fallen asleep afterwards before. And deep enough that I’ve sprawled over the bed like I haven’t done for years. 

I’m watching her sitting next to me. I can feel her touching my back; she seems fascinated by my scars. 

She has her own. Faint lines on her body, each one of them showing a miscalculation. She has mental scars as well, mental scars that meant I’ve taken things so slowly with her. Why it’s taken us so long to get to this place. 

Scars that Parker finally told me about when he realised I wasn’t going anywhere, and that showed me he finally trusted me with her.

It’s those mental scars that mean I’m taking things so very slowly, forcing my Penny to dictate the pace of our relationship. So much I want to do with her. So many ways I want to make love to her. But not until she’s ready.

Like she showed me today how ready she was. I can feel her lying on my back how, and hear her whisper and my heart pounds.

I turn and capture her against me on the bed. Her smile is slow, sexy, inviting, loving. 

“I thought you were asleep,” she says and gently pulls my head down to kiss me.

I stroke my hand down her side before bringing her closer. “I was,” I reply. “But it’s hard for me to stay asleep when the woman I love is kissing and petting my back.” I can still feel her fingers stroking, caressing each scar. Turning them from marks of pain, of torture, of failure, into a part of me that this woman loves. 

“I’ve heard,” she said, “that you’re meant to be this incredible lover, but that no one person can tie you down.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Depends on what you use,” I say, and then bend to whisper in her ear all the delicious ways that being tied down can work. I can hear her gasp, first in surprise and then in arousal. At least, that’s what I’m assuming it is, going on what her mouth then starts to do, not to mention her hands. 

This time when we make love, there’s more to it. A promise of a future to come, a promise of forever. 

But one again, when we reach our climaxes, our only words are those of love. Words that ease scars.

And I realise that there was only one goal I truly wanted to attain. And I reach it. “I love you.”


End file.
